Talking Trash, Making Bets
by evelynsteele
Summary: <html><head></head>Fourth in the "Blowin Smoke" series. Sam finally confronts Meg about her new attitude. MegxSam. Rated M for language.</html>


Meg huffed angrily as she sat just outside the bunker door. She was alone, for once, but only under the condition that the door stay open. She glared at the empty highball in her hand, taking a long drag on her cigarette. She flopped backwards, onto her back, so her torso crossed the threshold into the bunker. "Why am I not allowed to have more scotch?" she called down to the brothers who were seated at the table.

"Because it doesn't affect you," Dean called back. "And some of us actually have to get drunk."

Meg scoffed and rolled her eyes, continuing to just lay there and smoke. She vaguely registered the scraping of chairs and the opening and closing of the refrigerator. It wasn't until she felt the reverberations under her head that she realized someone was walking up the metal stairs to the landing. She opened her mouth to tell Dean off, but she clicked her jaw shut as Sam entered her field of vision. She sat up and slid herself further outside to allow him out; she knew that if she actually had a heartbeat, it's be racing. He stepped through the doorway and pulled the door shut behind him before sitting down next to her. She took one last drag of her cigarette before stubbing it out on the bottom of her boot. She continued to hold the cigarette butt, letting it occupy her attention as she fiddled with it.

"Dean said you have something to tell me," Sam mentioned, though his inflection phrased it as a question.

"Did he now?" she sharply responded. She knew exactly what Dean wanted her to tell Sam - after her outburst, he'd calmly expressed his concern but conceded that they were both consenting adults. Which only succeeded in making her feel like a child.

"He did," Sam unnecessarily responded, picking up on Meg's attitude. She huffed wordlessly, turning her face slightly away from him. His eyebrows drew together and upward, genuine concern flooding his features. "You okay?" he asked.

"It's nothing, Sammy," she reassured him with a small smile. "Honest." She could feel his gaze on her, but she refused to look at him – it was so much easier to lie without eye contact. Her skin itched, breaking open her gray area and twisting her stomach in knots. All it would take…

"Meg, please."

_Fuck_. That was all it took for her heart to squeeze and the words tumble past her lips, though she managed – just barely – to censor herself. "I said something to Dean in anger." She took a deep breath. "And to be fair, he's just being a little bitch about it." She ran her free hand through her hair, still avoiding looking at him at all.

"Dean seemed pretty insistent that I know what's going on," he murmured. He tucked a piece of her hair behind her ear, which she immediately shied away from. "Come on, Meg. What happened?"

She blew out a breath, suddenly wishing she hadn't put out her cigarette. "Cas accused me of sleeping with Dean," she finally admitted. It was actually rather relieving to finally have that out. "We'd come out here and smoke, me and Dean-o, and Unicorn caught us and thought we were fucking. Or about to. I don't know." She shrugged, her hands flopping onto her thighs with her glass by her foot. "I corrected Cas in an inappropriate manner, and the three of us are still angry at each other." She tilted her head, her hair sliding to her far shoulder as she watched the moonlight glint off her highball. Startled, she snapped her head to look at him as his hand rested atop hers. It was clear he didn't believe that the story was over. She huffed, angry that he was able to read her so well. "I made a flippant comment that Dean didn't appreciate." His hand remained where it was, which led to her voice rising in frustration. "Let it go, Sam!" she shouted, yanking her hand from under his.

Instead of being deterred, his hand curled around her knee with a gentle squeeze. "Please, Meg," he murmured, his soft, low voice in direct contrast to her screech. "We're all about trust, remember? And that's a two way street."

She shoved her fingers into her hair, closing her elbows in front of her face. He had her trapped. The whole foundation of her joining Team Free Will was trust: they trusted her, and she in turn trusted them. They'd discussed Lucifer and Crowley; surely she'd be able to admit her silly crush. He was right. She slid her hands to cover her eyes, but also lowered her elbows to expose her lips. "I told Cas he was worried about the wrong Winchester," she whispered. There was a beat of silence as she mentally cursed herself; she'd just tossed away a friendship, and now no one in the bunker could stand her. What she wasn't expecting was an exceptionally tender kiss. Her hands flew off her eyes, causing him to jump back.

"Sorry!" he immediately said. "I shouldn't have done that. I just thought-"

"No, no," she interrupted. "I wasn't – I was startled." Shaken, she gathered her hair away from her face. "I shouldn't have reacted like that." She looked at him for a moment, guided by a soft fist under her chin, and then her eyes fluttered closed. This time, as he more securely but still tenderly pressed his lips to hers, she kissed him back. His hand journeyed to press softly to the side of her neck, drawing her closer as one of her hands fisted in his flannel over his chest. She made a small noise as he dabbed at her lower lip with his tongue, to which his response was to repeat the action.

The door swung open, clipping him in the side of the hip and knocking their teeth together. They separated with a groan as Cas poked his head out. "Dean wanted me to check on you," he offered.

"Well, tell Dean he's a cunt waffle," she groaned. Cas ducked back into the bunker but left the door open. She and Sam stood up, wiping the dirt off the butt of their jeans.

Meg broke out into laughter as they heard Cas relay, "Meg would like me to inform you that you're a cunt-waffle." And Sam wouldn't help but kiss such a beautiful smile.


End file.
